


The Bitch Of Bolton

by thebitchofbolton



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Deception, F/M, Incest, Violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-05-03
Updated: 2016-07-15
Packaged: 2018-03-28 19:41:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,835
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3867421
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thebitchofbolton/pseuds/thebitchofbolton
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ramsay Bolton is to be married to Sansa Stark, but what Sansa and Littlefinger don't expect to find is Ramsay has a sister, Fiyona's intentions aren't clear and it seems she just might ruin everything. How far will she go and where will Ramsay's cruelty end? E in later chapters and all adult material will be warned.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Arrival

**Author's Note:**

> **I'm basing this on the TV show I have read the first and second book and parts of the others but obviously the narrative changes so I have gone with the TV show series 5 narrative and have taken it off in a new direction**

**_Fiyona_ **

Fiyona sat silently looking out of the frosted glass of her private chamber into the dull distance, she could see the approaching horses, _they are like the scratches on the window pane_ she thought, _insignificant now, but these scratches will soon turn to cracks and eventually the window will break._ Fiyona Bolton knew, even in the solitude of her chamber, that the cold silence of the castle was a sign. The last Stark was returning to Winterfell. Her face fell at the thought; if her father was to marry Ramsey to Sansa Stark he would have to tread more carefully if he wanted heirs, Ramsey’s heirs. Even if Stark blood was much rarer these days Fiyona doubted a direwolf would just lie down and roll over for the Bolton’s. She couldn’t help but flick the corners of her mouth upwards into a wicked grin as she pictured a flayed direwolf. _I wonder if a direwolf has ever been flayed._ She thought as she caught her faint reflection in the glass.

There was an abrupt knock at her chamber door. “Milady” came the raspy voice of one of Winterfell’s handmaidens “Yes Arby?” Fiyona recognised the hoarse croak of the elderly servant but refrained from moving from the chair she sat in. “Milord Bolton asks that ye dress for the arrival of our guests, and that yer to visit ‘im in ‘is council chamber as soon as yer ready” After a long intake of breath the Lady rose from the dark wooden seat saying “Would you help me dress Arby?”, she opened the door to see a large grin on the old woman’s face. “Still not used to fine gowns Milady? Don’t worry Miss I’ve been lacin’ corsets in Winterfell since-” she stopped suddenly and swallowed. “Since Lady Catelyn was here Arby? Yes I’m sure you were, well you better make me look as beautiful as her then hadn’t you?” The old woman smiled sweetly, more out of relief than genuine affection thought Fiyona, either way it was surely much better to befriend the smallfolk than make enemies, who else would help her dress otherwise?

She ought to have more fine dresses Fiyona supposed as she considered her only two suitable dresses, one of black velvet the other red silk. There were no Lannister mines underneath Winterfell so she knew in her heart dresses like these would come few and far between, after all who would notice one of her plain grey dresses under her fur cloak. The black seemed both more appropriate and warmer, no doubt the wind would be especially harsh today, and she wouldn’t freeze to the bone for the sake of a dress. Once undressed and in her small clothes, Arby helped Fiyona into her layered underskirts, then the corset, tightening laces beyond the realms of reason, as the young Bolton gripped the oak post of her bed, gasping for air. Looking down at her chest she wondered if dresses were not to make women pretty but to make men happy, her waist was now sculpted in such a way it made her chest heave to catch the little air she could hold. Even her handmaiden couldn’t help but giggle as she saw her lady’s breasts rise and fall sharply at her shallow breaths. “I might ‘ave to loosen my lacin’ Milady, otherwise ye just might fall out of yer dress.” Arby untied the bows and pulled a nimble finger through one of the strands and the whole dress loosened, Fiyona could not say she was comfortable but now at least she would not faint. “Sorry Milady, noble women usually ‘ave such childish figures, not ye Milady, birthin’ hips they call ‘em. Born to be a mother I’m sure.” Fiyona caught a glimpse of herself in the reflection on the window and felt as a pig might in dress, _nothing but a pig in a dress waiting to birth piglets_ ; the thought of it brought a welling to her eyes. “Breasts as well Milady, I can’t say I’ve seen many a noblewomen wi’ such wonderful breasts as yers, as I see it Lady Fiyona men don’t want boys, unless they’re inclined that way o’ course, they want real women and ye look like a real woman Milady. It’s a good job yer father keeps such a close watch on ye totherwise we wouldn’t be able to keep the men off of ye, my sons included!” Arby started laughing then, for a moment Fiyona felt touched by the old woman’s kindness. As she continued dressing her thoughts drifted to Arby’s sons, there was no doubt the woman was an old crone but she’d served Winterfell all her life and half of the smallfolk left at the castle were her offspring. Arby had four sons that Fiyona knew of, one in particular sprung to mind, Grenn was twice as tall as his mother and as twice as wide. He worked in the forge at Winterfell, whenever she had seen him he’d been covered in dirt or shining with sweat mostly both. Fiyona felt a smile creep up unto her face; she bit into the gums that walled the inside of her cheeks to stop herself.

“Sit on the chair Milady and I’ll tidy up yer ‘air” Fiyona did as she was told wondering fi the old woman spoke to her father with such confidence, she supposed not, but why did she speak so easily with her. Fiyona did not care much, yet it was curious to her, she thought about it as Arby tugged at her hair without a thought about how much it hurt her lady’s scalp. “Such beautiful ‘air Milady, so thick, and as dark as the earth, gets longer by the day” When she was done there was a surprisingly neat and intricate plait that started at the crown of her head and fell down to the small of her back, the front gently twisted back away from her face. “Thank you Arby, it was kind of you to help me” Fiyona rose from the chair “Did my father say to meet him in the council chamber?” She walked to the door with a sigh “Yes Milady he did, and tis a pleasure Milady.” Arby bobbed a little in a half attempted curtsy and followed Fiyona out of the room.

She was glad when she reached the council chamber as she knew there’d be a roaring fire inside to keep out the cold, she’d lived at The Dreadfort all her life until Winterfell, Fiyona knew the cold well but the glow of a fire was still a comfort to her. The girl saw her father stood by the fire; the light casting shadows across the lines in his face, her brother however was sat in a great armchair his boots caked in mud up upon her father’s desk. Her father spoke “Our guests, Lord Baelish and Sansa Stark are to be here soon. We will stand and greet them and we will behave ourselves, do you understand?” It seemed less of a question and more of a threat, she simply nodded. “I do Father,” Ramsay began “it’s whether my sister here can watch her mouth; a tongue of steel is hard to hide.” Ramsey took an apple from the table taking an overambitious bite from it. “Your sister isn’t the one who is to be married, a Stark or no she is to be your wife Ramsay, I shan’t have you fucking this up.” Her brother’s face soured a little, the tone in their father’s voice had hurt Ramsay she thought. “I won’t let you down father.” Fiyona heard a touch of earnestness from her brother just before he took another bite. “This wedding must go ahead; I have invested too much already. I have had wedding outfits made for you both.” Fiyona’s eyebrows raised, she hadn’t expected this “I won’t have the Stark girl look down her nose at us, everything will be in Bolton colours and represent our house; she must learn that I am the Warden of the North now.” The sternness in his face only hardened as he spoke, Ramsey butted in “I have seen the dress little sister, pink and red brocade, you shall look like a flayed man.” He smirked at her like a child might after swearing “I see, and what shall your Lady wife wear? A wolf’s head and a dress bound in fur? Shall we cover Littlefinger in feathers and give him a perch? Perhaps you could go naked and show them the bastard you were born as.” Ramsay took his feet off the table, swung them down with a thump onto the stone floor staring at her “I had hoped we could flay you, stick an apple in your mouth and have you as our centre piece sweet sister, its shame we couldn’t find an oven big enough to bake you in.” Fiyona’s face didn’t move an inch, she didn’t even swallow, she merely blinked slowly at him before saying “You’d better not brave brother; I wouldn’t want to upstage your new wife on her wedding day. There’s nothing more upsetting for a bride than for her bridesmaids to look prettier than her.” Her brother threw his apple core at her, she turned her head face and it just missed her face hitting the wall behind her. “You act like wildlings, both of you are a disgrace to your name get out and greet our approaching guests, before I skin the pair of you.” Her Lord and father bellowed, his tone and expression did not change but there was the understanding of playfulness between them. Bolton humour was an acquired taste.


	2. Chapter 2

As Fiyona made her way through the stony castle she could hear the clattering of silver and the murmurings of servants as they prepared for the guests’ arrival; she didn’t hurry, she walked with a gentle purpose, watching everyone scurry around her. She heard someone open a door and stride down the hallway behind, Fiyona didn’t turn around, she knew by the rhythmic strides who it was.

“Father” she smiled with a wicked intent at the tall figure standing beside her, now matching the man’s pace. “They are approaching the gates now Fiyona, we mustn’t keep them waiting, Ramsey is already down there I assume?” Roose Bolton’s voice was like a low rumble as he spoke.

“Yes father, we can only hope he’s not causing any trouble-” her father shot a short burst laughter, “Trouble! He’s been causing me trouble since the day his mother pulled him out from between her legs. We’ve got to hope he’s in good spirits, that way his trouble won’t cause too much damage.” Fiyona didn’t reply, she good wondered how much the Warden of the North actually knew about his son, whether he knew the full extent of Ramsey’s damage. Fiyona knew too well there was only blood to be shed when Ramsey was bad-tempered, today perhaps it might only be tears since he seemed so jovial.

“Oh, by the way daughter mine. I have convinced Ramsey to let you have one of his bitch’s pups, she had her litter just last night. No doubt he’ll give you the runt, but I thought it would be good for you to have at least one of the hounds to yourself. A pet perhaps, or a hunting dog of your own.”

A little bemused Fiyona merely said “Thank you Father” but Roose flashed the flicker of an upturned mouth. “I may have made your brother a lord Fiyona, but nothing shall harm you while I live, and no brother or lord shall have power over you but me. Great things are coming to our house at last, and my daughter will be a force unto her own in the north.” They turned into the keep where all the servants and smallfolk stood shivering in the bitter wind waiting to be allowed to return to their work. Ramsey stood proudly in the centre ready to greet his new bride, Walda standing tentatively beside him gripping her grey fur cloak closer to keep out the cold. Theon was cowering behind Ramsey, trying desperately not to shiver. Roose took his daughter by the hand and led her into the centre of the keep with the rest of the Boltons, Ramsey’s brow crinkled at the affection shown to his sister. “Careful father, she bites.” He bellowed as if he were joking, and a few chuckles came from the smallfolk, but there was a tone of bitterness in what he said.

Fiyona waited until her father had walked her up beside Ramsey, where she bobbed wryly in a mock curtsey, Roose drawled “You’d better watch your tongue then my son, or she might bite it off.” Positioning his daughter next to his wife, Roose ordered for the gates to be opened and Fiyona watched the scene with mild interest but an expression that showed no emotion.

Fiyona watched as Sansa and Lord Baelish rode into the keep, the former looking resentful, and the latter looking devilish and rather pleased with himself. He was not as slight as she had imagined him, with a name like Littlefinger Fiyona expected a pathetic little man, but he was rather graceful and his gaze was quite penetrating. She felt pangs of dread for Sansa, the poor thing looked so miserable, and her misery would only grow like Ramsey’s insipid seed will inside her. Hopefully she’ll find a way to smother him as he sleeps, Fiyona thought without an ounce of guilt. Her attention was snatched by the cluttering of the gates and port cullis being closed behind the arrival party. Arby’s son Grenn, the one from the forge, was turning a handle the size of a longsword that winched the gates. Fiyona couldn’t help but watch him, his muscles flexing, his nostrils flared like a horse, she’d noticed that he did this whenever he exerted a lot of force. When Grenn had finished he stood, obediently waiting to be told when he could return to his usual work. His eye caught Fiyona’s, he flushed red and nervously put his fingers to his tongue, wiping at his face to remove some of the dirt and looked back at her bashfully. Fiyona gave a hint of a smile to put him at ease, Grenn looked down at the floor, she wondered if she had embarrassed him all that much. 

Before she could think on it any longer Fiyona was jolted back to the world of Lords and Houses, as she heard her father say softly, “And my daughter, Fiyona.” She turned her head a fraction to sharply to see Roose gesturing towards whereupon her instincts lead her to a low curtsey toward Littlefinger and Sansa. Looking up she caught Littlefinger’s smirk and ever devouring gaze. His eyes are the kind that remind you of your darkest secret, as if he already knows it, she thought to herself, that may work in King’s Landing Littlefinger, but it won’t be much use here, especially if someone takes your eyes. After all she was just as much Bolton as she was Snow.  
Fiyona glared back at Littlefinger he approached, almost gliding as he went. “I had no idea you had a daughter as well Lord Bolton. What a pleasant surprise.” Fiyona raised a thick arched eyebrow saying “I am glad you find me pleasant, my lord. For what would the daughter of the Warden of the North be without the appreciation of the lord of the littlest finger?”

Not to faze Littlefinger, he merely tittered under his breath “Of course I am your humble servant M’ilady”, he bowed grandly, gesturing with both hands his impish grin looking up at her. Fiyona put a small white hand out to him, in which Littlefinger placed his larger cold one, she lifted him to standing, “You do so suit grovelling Littlefinger”.   
“Play nicely Fiyona.” Roose said in a jesting tone “Lord Baelish, I’m afraid my daughter can be quite the ruthless opponent, in all things.”  
Littlefinger replied “Then she must be my companion to show me Winterfell, it must have changed drastically since Sansa and I were last here.” He squeezed her hand, proffering his whole arm for her to take.

“Of course, Ramsey accompany your bride. We must show Lord Baelish and Lady Sansa the changes that have fallen Winterfell under Bolton command. Lady Bolton.” Roose held his arm for Walda who cheerily took her husband’s arm, Ramsey copied his father and Sansa reluctantly linked her arm into Ramsey’s. “Back to work everyone!” Lord Bolton commanded, with only a slightly raised voice. He led them off into the grounds, Ramsey and Sansa following behind, Theon trailing slightly to the left behind Ramsey. Littlefinger held Fiyona back without a word, waited until there were a few metres between them and Theon and then whispered “Please lead the way Lady Bolton. Fiyona’s skin was covered in goosebumps, and the hairs were standing on end.


End file.
